Stress Management
A lecturer, when explaining stress management to an audience, raised a glass of water and asked, "how heavy is this glass of water?" Answers called out ranged from 20 grams to 500 grams.
The lecturer replied, "The absolute weight doesn't matter. It depends on how long you try to hold it. If I hold it for a minute, that's not a problem. If I hold it for an hour, I'll have an ache in my right arm. If I hold it for a day, you'll have to call an ambulance. In each case, it's the same weight, but the longer I hold it, the heavier it becomes."
He continued, "And that's the way it is with stress management. If we carry our burdens all the time, sooner or later, as the burden becomes increasingly heavy, we won't be able to carry on. As with the glass of water, you have to put it down for a while and rest before holding it again. When we're refreshed, we can carry on with the burden."
So, before you return home tonight, put the burden of work down. Don't carry it home. You can pick it up tomorrow. Whatever burdens you're carrying now, let them down for a moment if you can. Relax; pick them up later after you've rested. Life is short Enjoy it!
I was forced to terminate an employee years ago for having reported to work drunk. It was not his worst offense, but it was his last. When I sat him down to break the news to him, I said:
"John, I swore when I took this job that I'd never take a problem to bed with me at night. It was, and is, my intention to deal with problems swiftly and to move on. John, you and I have been to bed together too many times. You're fired."
The company I worked for profited from my having pulled the trigger.
Stress is often caused by allowing problems to fester and problem employees to accumulate.
Want to control work-related stress? Deal with your problems. Once. Swiftly. Move on.
Sunday, May 29, 2005
Sunday, May 08, 2005
Men Walk On The Moon
For you history buffs out there, I thought I'd let you take a look at this. It is a copy (the entire newspaper; not just the front page) of the Saigon Post dated Tuesday, July 22, 1969. My brother, Steve, was serving in Vietnam at the time and bought it on the streets of Saigon because it chronicled the historical significance of the day. He sent it home and it has been in my possession ever since.
To me, it has enormous historical value because:
(1) It was printed the day the first human being in history (Neil Armstrong) ever set foot on the moon.
(2) The Saigon Post no longer exists.
(3) Saigon no longer exists.
(4) South Vietnam no longer exists.
It is very cool.
To me, it has enormous historical value because:
(1) It was printed the day the first human being in history (Neil Armstrong) ever set foot on the moon.
(2) The Saigon Post no longer exists.
(3) Saigon no longer exists.
(4) South Vietnam no longer exists.
It is very cool.
Thursday, May 05, 2005
Marketing 101
Now I enjoy staring at women's breasts as much as anyone. And Pamela Anderson Lee has her share (I count at least three in this photo). But I want to know who the genius was who paid good money to put up a billboard showing Pamela's boobs (oxymoron alert) in the wilds of Northern West Virginia.
I was on my way toward Pennsylvania yesterday morning on I-77 when I passed this PETA billboard (denouncing cruelty toward chickens) somewhere around Burnsville, West Virginia. I can only assume, since the traffic count there is rather meager, that the marketing gurus at PETA were targeting some poultry processing plant workers in the area. Like Pamela Anderson Lee's mammaries are going to influence their career decision-making.
Now I have more marketing training than a grown man should ever have. But sometimes it comes in handy. As in this case.
Memo to PETA and its marketing firm: Know your target audience. West, by God, Virginians still believe in the literal Bible. You won't find many citizens there showing up at work with their (fake) boobs exploding from their tight-fitting knit tops. Truth be known, most God-fearing women in the area find photos like that plastered on your billboard to be pornographic.
Whether you find their attitudes toward nakedness to be quaint, outlandish, silly, or disgustingly Christian, they are the people you are trying to sway, you morons. Where on earth were your brains when you devised this marketing gem? What were you thinking?
Oh. Wait a minute. I took another look at the billboard. I know exactly what you were thinking about. You devils.
I was on my way toward Pennsylvania yesterday morning on I-77 when I passed this PETA billboard (denouncing cruelty toward chickens) somewhere around Burnsville, West Virginia. I can only assume, since the traffic count there is rather meager, that the marketing gurus at PETA were targeting some poultry processing plant workers in the area. Like Pamela Anderson Lee's mammaries are going to influence their career decision-making.
Now I have more marketing training than a grown man should ever have. But sometimes it comes in handy. As in this case.
Memo to PETA and its marketing firm: Know your target audience. West, by God, Virginians still believe in the literal Bible. You won't find many citizens there showing up at work with their (fake) boobs exploding from their tight-fitting knit tops. Truth be known, most God-fearing women in the area find photos like that plastered on your billboard to be pornographic.
Whether you find their attitudes toward nakedness to be quaint, outlandish, silly, or disgustingly Christian, they are the people you are trying to sway, you morons. Where on earth were your brains when you devised this marketing gem? What were you thinking?
Oh. Wait a minute. I took another look at the billboard. I know exactly what you were thinking about. You devils.
Sunday, May 01, 2005
Family, The Anti-drug
Today's lesson: Want to teach your children right from wrong? Good from evil? Want to keep them away from drugs? To lead a good life? To stay out of prison? To raise a loving family of their own?
Start early. Take 'em fishin'.
Meet the love of my life. Jayla, 37 months but preparing for her doctoral dissertation, went fishing with me Sunday. For the first time in her life.
My daughter captured the rare moment with her camera when the line was actually in the water. Jayla was obsessed with the thought that a fish had stolen our worm and chose to frequently reel in the line. And I could tell there wasn't nearly as much excitement for her sitting motionless, waiting for a fish to bite, as there was in playing with the slimy, wiggly, fascinating ... worm.
She would cast the line out, and everyone would duck or take cover, sit on my lap for - on average - fifteen seconds, and turn to me and say, "I think a fish got the worm, Gramps." So she'd reel the confused worm in for the umpteenth time, give it a quick inspection, and fling him out into the lake again.
Pictured are Princess Jayla, Kaid, and Chase, being coached by my son, son-in law, and me. A family's bond being passed down from one generation to the next. And the next.
Rate of success? It's never failed.
Click on image to enlarge.
Come Buy Our Pots
When I was young, one of the vacation excursions that seemed to be in the plans of all European-American adults was to travel out west. There they would stay in flea-infested hotels with broken air conditioning, take a picture of a cactus, pretend to enjoy the frijoles, and sweat profusely in the hot sun. And they would make the obligatory journey to Window Rock, Arizona to buy a genuine Navajo rug from an honest-to-God Navajo princess.
As a young and relatively stupid youth, the thought never crossed my mind that it might have been a good idea for one of the thousands of visitors who stopped by the dingy, dilapidated shack the princess was working out of to offer her valuable advice: Move to Phoenix. Get a decent job cleaning rooms at the Holiday Inn. They have a healthcare plan. And you can get away from this hellhole.
Fast-forward to 2005. No, wait. Step back in time to Southwest Virginia.
Here we are developing plans to lure elderly European-Americans with disposable income to come here to buy our pots. Beads. For all I know, genuine Navajo rugs.
Look. If you enjoy sipping the latest fruit of the vine and listening to transplants from Buffalo strumming their mandolins, more power to you. Floyd County should be your vacation destination.
But for all the folks in Southwest Virginia who are seeking gainful employment, and a better future for their children, selling beads on the side of the road isn't going to work. They need employers who will pay a decent wage for a day's work. They need healthcare benefits for their family. And a dental plan, if I'm making a wishlist. Here's the problem:
We're doomed. For those who have stuck it out this long, call U-haul first thing Monday morning. I hear they're hiring up in Duluth.
For those of you who plan on sticking it out, do what I'm doing. I've gotten myself a wig from the Wal-Mart, bought some mocassins and this fashionable leather dress (that accentuates my fake bust) from a hippy over in Floyd County, and I'm learning to weave genuine Navajo rugs.
You can call me Princess Havpityonme, genuine Navajo native, from now on. I'm riding the wave to success, baby.
As a young and relatively stupid youth, the thought never crossed my mind that it might have been a good idea for one of the thousands of visitors who stopped by the dingy, dilapidated shack the princess was working out of to offer her valuable advice: Move to Phoenix. Get a decent job cleaning rooms at the Holiday Inn. They have a healthcare plan. And you can get away from this hellhole.
Fast-forward to 2005. No, wait. Step back in time to Southwest Virginia.
Here we are developing plans to lure elderly European-Americans with disposable income to come here to buy our pots. Beads. For all I know, genuine Navajo rugs.
Southwest Virginia sets sights on arts
Towns hope to draw artists to the area and in turn boost tourism
BY Rex Bowman, Richmond Times-Dispatch Staff WriterA lesson I learned in graduate school (and from the woman selling rugs in Window Rock) is that when you have nothing else going for you, try selling crap to tourists.
FLOYD -- Already making big strides in promoting eco-tourism and music-based tourism, communities in Southwest Virginia are now turning their sights on "heritage tourism," looking to find ways to bolster Appalachian craftspeople and their products.
Specifically, officials hope to emulate the success of North Carolina's Hand Made in America, a coalition of artists, craftspeople and civic leaders that in the past decade has turned the making of hand-crafted products into a booming sector of the economy and lured tourists into the western part of the Tar Heel State.
In Virginia this month, a group called the Southwest Virginia Artisans Network formed to help craftspeople learn business and marketing skills and to showcase their works. The group, funded by $195,000 from the General Assembly, plans to pattern its approach after Virginia's Crooked Road -- a year-old 250-mile trail linking and promoting musical landmarks and venues from Clintwood to Floyd and Ferrum. The road immediately boosted tourism in Southwest Virginia, according to local tourism officials.
This week in Floyd County, already known for its vibrant arts and crafts community [as well as average annual income per wage earner of $17,023, average home values $45000 below the state average, and with 11.7% of the population living below the poverty line], local officials played host to HandMade in America's Craft Advisory Council, which brought craftspeople from Kentucky, North Carolina, Tennessee and Virginia together at the Chateau Morrisette winery.But did they spend any money in Floyd while they were there? Probably not. How could they? There aren't any real businesses there anymore. Unless you include the pottery shops run by the dope-smoking artsy craftsy ménage that have migrated there to sell their worthless trash to those seven unsuspecting tourists that pass through the area each day.
Participants discussed ways of encouraging the crafts as a tourism attraction and economic engine.They also discussed ways of making genuine Navajo rugs out of the polyester / acrylic blended ones imported from Singapore that you can buy over at the Wal-Mart.
Look. If you enjoy sipping the latest fruit of the vine and listening to transplants from Buffalo strumming their mandolins, more power to you. Floyd County should be your vacation destination.
But for all the folks in Southwest Virginia who are seeking gainful employment, and a better future for their children, selling beads on the side of the road isn't going to work. They need employers who will pay a decent wage for a day's work. They need healthcare benefits for their family. And a dental plan, if I'm making a wishlist. Here's the problem:
The numerous Appalachian residents [sure they are] who sculpt, paint, turn pottery and make baskets, brooms, fiddles, quilts, leatherworks and sundry other products constitute an "invisible factory," helping to replace disappearing manufacturing and textile jobs, according to proponents of the crafts movement.Making "baskets, brooms, fiddles, quilts, leatherworks and sundry other products" is going to replace manufacturing jobs.
We're doomed. For those who have stuck it out this long, call U-haul first thing Monday morning. I hear they're hiring up in Duluth.
For those of you who plan on sticking it out, do what I'm doing. I've gotten myself a wig from the Wal-Mart, bought some mocassins and this fashionable leather dress (that accentuates my fake bust) from a hippy over in Floyd County, and I'm learning to weave genuine Navajo rugs.
You can call me Princess Havpityonme, genuine Navajo native, from now on. I'm riding the wave to success, baby.
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